


The Remformation

by halfpastmorrow



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastmorrow/pseuds/halfpastmorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore woos Snape away from the Dark Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Remformation

Severus scowled at the snowball warriors from his perch in the Owlery. The thick layer of snow muted most sounds, but their raucous cries still drifted up and startled the roosting owls, distracting him. The distraction was unwelcome, disrupting his thoughts and making him conscious of his physical discomfort.

It was mid afternoon and snow-laden clouds had rolled in, causing the temperature to plummet. Cold seeped into his body from the stones of the window ledge and the bitter wind that swept in through the window. Severus shivered, wiped his streaming nose on the cuff of his sleeve and pulled his woollen cloak more tightly around his skinny frame, tucking the edges carefully under his boots to hold it in place. He wedged his chin under the knot in his scarf and drew his hands back into his sleeves, using just the pads of his fingers to prop his book against his bent knees, and tried to refocus his attention.

Sometime later, absorbed, he failed to notice heavy footsteps climbing the tower stairs or the voice cheerfully conversing with the owls, until he was spoken to.

"Mr Snape," Dumbledore said quizzically, "I wasn't expecting to see anyone here." He jerked his attention away from the text to see the Headmaster gazing at him with mild concern. "This is a rather cold place for study."

"I am _allowed_ to be here." Severus said, clutching the book to his chest defensively.

"Yes... yes, but surely you would prefer the library."

Severus frowned. "I... no... I prefer it here. It's not cold. It's peaceful." It was true or at least partly true. The Owlery was freezing and had a rank smell, a foul combination of manure and rotting meat, but at least no one bothered him there. "Or at least it usually is." He turned to glare at the boys playing in the snow, but they were gone.

When he turned back, Dumbledore seemed as if he wanted to say something, but instead he gave Severus a thoughtful look and began rummaging in the pockets of his vibrant, purple robe. "I know I have it here somewhere," he muttered, patting the multitude of pockets in a robe that appeared almost luminous in contrast to the dull day. He pulled a bag of owl treats from one pocket, and was immediately accosted by a large barn owl. "Not now, Ichabod," he said, transferring the bag to different pocket.

Finally, he pulled out a battered tin box. And opening it, took three steps toward Severus. "Sherbet lemon?"

Severus shook his head. "No, thank you, Sir." However, Dumbledore rattled the tin insistently, so he took a sweet but held it without any intention of ingesting it.

Since reading was no longer an option, Severus dropped the book, and burrowed his frozen fingers into his armpits, squeezing them tightly between his chest and upper arms as though the action would warm them more quickly.

Dumbledore plucked the book from his lap, examining it with an amused smile. "Potions, I should have guessed. Professor Crochan has been singing your praises for a number of years now."

Severus stared suspiciously at the Headmaster. Suddenly sure that their encounter was not coincidental, he wondered about the true purpose of Dumbledore's visit, but did not venture an opinion.

Unperturbed by the lack of response, Dumbledore continued, "Studying for your O.W.L.S. already, or is this pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Severus mumbled in response to Dumbledore's direct question, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

But Dumbledore just said, "Ah, it is always more enjoyable to teach an interested student," and it didn't appear that he would be making a point any time soon.

So Severus held out a hand for his book, saying, "Thank you for the sweet, Sir," in a manner just shy of dismissal.

"Good evening then, Mr Snape." Dumbledore's response was neutral, and he laid the book in Severus' hand.

With the headmaster gone, Severus resettled the book against his knees, tilting it toward the window in a futile attempt to catch the final rays of the sun. Determined to stay and avoid the rest of the school for a while longer, despite the growing darkness, he lit his wand. But, arse aching from the cold and prolonged use, he was unable to get comfortable enough to concentrate. Sighing in defeat, he closed his text and jumped down from the ledge, stretching out the kinks as he started toward the Great Hall.

* * *

"Potions again, Severus. I do hope you are not neglecting your other studies," Dumbledore said warmly, blue eyes twinkling.

Severus gifted him with a wry smile. "It's only ten weeks until my O.W.L.S. and I would hate to disappoint my _favourite_ professor."

"I was always more partial to transfiguration myself," Dumbledore said in a droll voice.

Accustomed to the Headmaster's presence, Severus often allowed him to witter on, maintaining his end of the conversation with a series of monosyllabic grunts while directing most of his attention elsewhere. He sat in his usual place, observing the effect of the dawning day on the grounds of Hogwarts, paying very little attention to his companion, until his reverie was suddenly interrupted.

"I understand you have been having a few difficulties with a certain group of Gryffindors." Severus groaned inwardly at the triteness of his statement. A few difficulties... it might as well be said that _Avada Kedavra_ made people only _slightly_ dead. That loathsome quartet went out of their way to make his life hell, pursuing him mercilessly, even when he was _not_ deliberately antagonising them. And it didn't help that he suffered a complete lack of support from his own housemates, who barely tolerated him because his pureblood ancestry could only be traced back six generations.

Feigning indifference, he returned his attention to the grounds, watching as two figures appeared out of tenuous curls of mist emanating from the lake. One of the figures was Madame Pomfrey, judging by the bright red cloak she habitually wore, but the identity of the other was a mystery. The smaller figure seemed injured and leaned on Madame Pomfrey as they walked slowly toward the school. Severus was intrigued, and he leant out of the window following their progress.

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice was almost sharp. He pulled his head back inside the Owlery window, turning to face him. "I would like to think that you would feel able to talk to me if things became too unbearable."

"Oh," Severus replied noncommittally, noting the grave expression on Dumbledore's face. He wanted to reassure him, but felt uncomfortable telling the man outright lies.

He glanced out the window again, but the two figures had disappeared from view.

* * *

"I am sorry, Severus, but I cannot expel Mr Black, however much he deserves it. If I did people would ask why, and I would only end up punishing the innocent as well as the guilty." Dumbledore's expression was sympathetic but his voice was resolute.

Severus sat on the one side of the Headmaster desk, a cup of tea cooling on his knee. "Innocent," he practically howled, "that... that..."

"Yes, innocent. I have received assurances from both Mr Black and Mr Lupin, that Mr Lupin had no prior knowledge of last night's incident."

"Black told you. And you believe him?" Severus sounded incredulous.

Dumbledore nodded. "I see no reason to believe either of them have lied to me. And Mr Lupin has never before betrayed the trust I have placed in him."

Severus' fingers clutched convulsively at the armrest of the chair he sat in. "You see no reason..." he trailed off numb with disbelief.

"I know this decision will be difficult for you to accept but..."

"And Potter," Severus cut in angrily, "what do you intend to do about him?" He shifted his legs restlessly, only catching his long-forgotten cup of tea as it was on the verge of slipping off his knee.

Dumbledore frowned. "I'm afraid I don't see why I need to do anything about Mr Potter. We would have given him points for your rescue, but that would defeat the point of taking them from Black."

"He laughed at me. When he was..." hearing the hysteria in his voice, Severus sucked in a deep breath before continuing, "one of his friends almost killed me and he thought it was a huge joke. Said Black didn't mean it, and I needed to lighten up and get over myself."

Dumbledore paused and steepled his fingers together in front of his face, wearing a pensive expression. "I _will_ ask Professor McGonagall to have a word with him, but it is difficult to fault his actions no matter how distressing you found his attitude."

"I thought you cared about me," Severus said viciously, rage welling inside him. Two hot spots flared on his cheeks, and he swept the teacup from his lap, feeling marginally better when it shattered on the stone floor.

The older man eyed him sadly. "Severus..."

"Don't call me that. Points and detention for Black, and nothing for Lupin or Potter. You don't care... don't even bother pretending you do," Severus shouted, his pulse clamouring in his ears. He leapt to his feet, the violent action tipping his chair over. The heavy wooden object thumped to floor, rattling the glass cabinets that lining the walls of Dumbledore's office. "May I go then?" he asked Dumbledore, but stormed toward the door without waiting for a response.

"Mr Snape." Severus paused in the doorway at his commanding tone. "I understand that you are angry, and you have every right feel that way. But if knowledge of Mr Lupin's _condition_ is made public I will know whom to blame, and their fate shall be the same as Mr Lupin's."

Severus just grasped the doorknob, and slammed the door behind him, vindictive glee bubbling inside at the sound of breaking glass.

* * *

The next six months were the most miserable of Severus' existence. Not only was he forced to endure the three-month summer vacation, but also he no longer derived any joy from being at Hogwarts. He avoided the Owlery and the Great Hall as much as possible, only infrequently turning up for meals. He would have taken all his meals in the kitchens, but when he turned up for the new school year the house-elves had, apparently, been forbidden to feed him there. When hunger did drive him into the Great Hall, he spent more time glaring at both the High Table and the Gryffindor table than eating.

Severus poked disconsolately at the breast of chicken on his plate, and drew his brows together. "I trusted you," he muttered.

"Well that was stupid, wasn't it?"

"I beg your pardon," said Severus in astonishment, and looked over to see that Rookwood had followed his gaze to the High Table.

"You should have known better than to trust a Muggle lover like Dumbledore," he said, ignoring Severus' scowl. "So what did he do anyway?"

"None of your business," Severus said bluntly.

"I see." He gave Severus an appraising look. "I never would have imagined he would be capable of that."

Severus' cutlery clattered to the table. "I don't think you do see. He never..."

"Of course he did. People like _that_ only appear virtuous, underneath they reek of corruption," Rookwood declared.

"Yes," Severus exclaimed when Rookwood's words resonated with his own emotions. Rookwood nodded approvingly, and Severus cringed. "Bugger."

"Oh, poor Sev," another voice crooned, and a hand was laid on his upturned wrist, two fingers rubbing small circles on his palm.

He yanked it away, recognising the voice. "Narcissa," he warned through gritted teeth, "don't call me Sev." She leaned in closer, batting her eyelashes at him innocently.

"We'll understand if you don't feel able to talk about it," a third voice said.

"Now look here," Severus said, annoyed that someone else was interfering in his personal affairs, but broke off with a groan, finding himself encircled by half a dozen seemingly concerned faces.

Rookwood, Nott, Avery, Regulus, Narcissa, the youngest Lestrange brother...

He wasn't sure when they had surrounded him or what they wanted, but he hadn't been so oblivious or self-absorbed that he hadn't seen this little clique forming over the past few months. He looked back to the High Table, and, as expected, met the Headmaster's watchful gaze.

"It'll be all right, Sev," Narcissa said, patting his arm again. Severus opened his mouth to blast her. "There are people who can protect you from him."

"People who... what people?" Severus asked with some confusion. When no one answered him, he focused on his neighbours again and saw Narcissa shrinking away from Rookwood's glare.

In the silence that followed, Severus picked up his utensils and went back to poking his chicken. He cut off a minute slice, under the weight of several sets of eyes, and forced himself to eat it.

"I heard you did quite well in your Potions O.W.L.," Rookwood said as though their previous discussion had never taken place.

Startled, Severus almost choked on his mouthful and stared distrustfully at him.

* * *

The shiny, grey cauldron skittered along the floor, bounced off the wall at the end of the corridor, and came to rest at the head of the stairs. Severus stalked after it, cursing vociferously, a piece of parchment scrunched in one fist. His seventh year had gone well, up to this point, and he'd thought himself home free. Too soon as it turned out. Reaching the cauldron, he toed it over the edge, hearing it clank out of sight with grim satisfaction, and followed it down still cursing.

"Watch it," a girl yelped as the cauldron banged to a halt. Then a few moments later she called out, "Is that you, Sev?"

"Narcissa," Severus growled, barely interrupting his string of oaths.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" she asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Severus tried to push past her, but she caught his elbow. "McGonagall will have a fit if she hears you."

"Good," he said, pulling his arm out of her grasp.

Narcissa stuck her hands on her hips, blocking his path. "What's up your nose?" Severus glowered at her. "Don't do that. You know I'm immune," she said, and tugged him in the direction of an empty classroom, "Come in here and talk to me."

Disgruntled, he acquiesced and flung himself onto the teacher's desk at the front of the room. Narcissa hopped up on the desk next to him and hooked her arm through his. "So what _is_ it?"

"This," Severus said, thrusting the parchment into her hand.

As she read, Narcissa first looked scandalised, and then began to giggle. "Dumbledore wants you to be his what?"

"His eromenos," Severus said a trifle primly. "That's the contract you're holding." Narcissa dissolved into helpless laughter, burying her face in both hands.

"I always knew he was an old letch, no matter how much you protested." Her voice rasped with suppressed laughter.

"Really, he's never..."

She rolled her eyes. "I know, I know... he's never even _touched_ you. But it is, by definition, a sexual relationship." Her eyes skimmed down the parchment. "Look," her finger stabbed at the document, "it's even spelled out right here."

"I know," Severus groaned. "Tradition dictates that sex is the reward for the erastes guiding his eromenos' entry into society."

"_Ancient_ tradition," she declared. "And it's still legal?"

"Yes." He scrubbed a hand across his eyes wearily.

"That's sick. What is that barmy old codger up to? Surely he _knows_ the erastes traditions died out decades?" Narcissa puzzled aloud.

"Keep reading, you'll see." Severus began swearing again.

"Oh do shut up a minute, Sev, and let me finish," she admonished after a few minutes, eyes fixed on the contract. "He's offering you the Potions apprenticeship with Professor Crochan. That's brilliant." She slipped an arm around his waist, giving him a quick squeeze.

"It's hardly worth a paean," Severus said sourly. "Go on, keep reading."

She did.

"Oh Sev," Narcissa said at length, and tightened her arm around him, letting go only when he struggled.

"You see, the contract requires me to spend the time between the third hour before midnight and seventh hour after midnight in Dumbledore's chambers. I'll never be able to fulfil my other duties. Our _Lord_ will never allow it," he said dolefully.

"And if he doesn't, Professor Crochan won't offer you the Potions apprenticeship. How long do you have to decide?"

"Just over four weeks. Until I get my N.E.W.T. results."

"Maybe _he_ will let you," Narcissa said, attempting to reassure him. "He certainly seems keen for you to study Potions."

"So, now I'm supposed to prostitute myself for my art." Narcissa started giggling again. "I'm being serious," he said, giving her a quelling look.

Her chest hitched as she attempted to stifle her laughter. "I know, that's what's so funny." Severus splayed his arms out behind him on the desk, and Narcissa leaned in against him. "But it's only for the duration of the apprenticeship, and there's a month sabbatical in summer and fortnight at Christmas," she said matter-of-factly, scanning the document. "It could be worse."

"Three years," Severus grumbled, kicking at a leg of the desk with his heel, "how could it be worse."

"You could be me. My hand's been promised to Lucius Malfoy. Barely eighteen and already my life is no longer my own." She sighed dramatically.

Severus snorted. "Oh yes, Lucius Malfoy - handsome, sophisticated, charming, not to mention heir to the Malfoy estate - I'm sure they'll be able to hear you screaming in Australia."

Narcissa shifted closer and slid her hand across his leg, nails scraping along the surface of his robe. "We won't be able to talk like this when I'm married. Will you miss me?"

"I'm sure I'll live," Severus said in a dry voice.

"Not even a little," she wheedled. Her hand slipped higher, and her fingers began stroking his inner thigh.

"Narcissa," he said, pushing at her hand in disgust, "stop mauling me."

"Why not?" She pouted, and her hand crept even further up his thigh. "Don't you want to be comforted?"

"Why not?" Severus laughed humourlessly as he grabbed her wrist. Narcissa grunted in protest, and wrenched her arm free. "You mean apart from the fact that Lucius would crush me like a scarab beetle."

She massaged her wrist. "What Lucius doesn't know won't hurt him."

Not deigning to answer her, Severus got to his feet, and headed off to the Slytherin dungeon with Narcissa trailing along behind him.

"So what's this," she asked, poking the forgotten cauldron with her toe as they passed.

Severus halted. "A gift. It's part of the tradition..."

"Wait, now I remember. Isn't the offer supposed to be presented in front of a load of witnesses."

"It was, well, not a load obviously, but Dumbledore invited Professor Crochan and McGonagall."

"Oh." She stooped to examine the now rather dented cauldron and grabbed the rim, rolling it on its base. "It's heavy. What's it made of?"

"Platinum, I think. It's useful for working with more acidic compounds."

Narcissa's eyes gleamed, and she stood up, cradling the cauldron. "Well, it can't stay here," she said to Severus' bemused look, "anyone might grab it." And with that she set off down the corridor, staggering slightly under its weight.

* * *

Severus remained motionless -- on his knees, head bowed, half stifled by his mask -- and waited for his Lord's command. His back and neck twinged, but he didn't shift his gaze from the stone floor in front of him. Nor did he move to ease the pressure of the flagstones that bit his knees. He swayed with drowsiness wrought by the drone of the Dark Lord's voice as he addressed his other followers. He focused on the ache to keep himself still, and the world narrowed to his twin pain, the square of floor in front of him, the rustle and flicker of Death Eater's robes, and that monotonous voice.

"Severus."

Registering the stiff, black robes and booted feet in his vision, he jerked his head up, looking directly into the dark lord's face. The features were mostly hidden beneath his cowl, but his fiery eyes gleamed in its gloom. "My Lord."

"I have decided to grant your request." Severus struggled not to gape at the totally unexpected response. "Do not look so surprised. You shall have the education I require, and I will have a spy in my enemy's bedchamber."

"He knows," Severus blurted out in horror at the Dark Lord's apparent expectations, but he just laughed, provoking a wash of titters through his gathered disciples.

"I'm sure he does, but men do not always guard their words as carefully in the wake of passion. And you will bring them to me, all of them. Even seemingly insignificant details might be important." He removed Severus' mask and took his chin in one hand, tilting his face from side to side as he inspected it. Severus shuddered when hands as dry as parchment touched his skin. "What I fail to see is_why_ he wants you. Surely, a man of his stature could attract a tastier morsel to his bed."

The Death Eaters cackled.

Severus locked his fingers together behind his back to prevent himself twisting them in the folds of his robe. With his overlarge nose, lank hair and gawky body, he was all too aware of the picture he presented. Though mortified, he stubbornly maintained eye contact with his Lord, and offered, "Perhaps he thinks he can save me?" hiding behind the truth.

The Dark Lord grimaced at him benevolently and, releasing Severus' chin, drew two knuckles along his cheekbone. "Perhaps, naÔvetÈ has a charm of its own."

* * *

Severus stood at the door, belting his plush, green robe more securely around himself. He raised his fist to knock, but the door swung open before he got the chance. He yanked the belt of his robe again and, with no more reason to delay, took a deep breath and entered.

The room was just as he had imagined it, cosy and inviting in a Gryffindorish sort of way. The furniture looked to be made of mahogany, and warm colours had been selected for the rugs, fabric and the large tapestry that hung on one wall. The curtains were drawn, even though the darkness was not yet complete, so only the fireplace and a few sconces lit the room, adding to the cheery ambiance. A huge four-poster dominated the room, but Severus also catalogued a wardrobe, chest of drawers, two bookcases, a side table and a solitary armchair.

Dumbledore was currently ensconced in the garishly patterned armchair that if you excluded the bed, and Severus did, served as the room's only seat. He regarded Severus silently from his place by the fire, apparently waiting for Severus to make the first move, but Severus refused.

Eventually, Dumbledore stood, and motioned him away from the door, saying, "Good evening, Severus, do come and sit down. Would you like some tea?" while moving toward a tray that rested on the chest of drawers.

"Yes, Sir." Eschewing the bed, Severus chose the chair Dumbledore had recently vacated instead, but he only perched on its edge, denying himself any comfort. He refused the offer of tea as well, guarding himself against the man's insidious charm.

"I think, under the circumstances, it would be permissible for you to call me Albus," Dumbledore said pleasantly from where he was making his tea.

"Yes, Sir."

Dumbledore sighed, and took his cup over to the turned down bed. He sipped from it, watching Severus, over the rim, with a serious expression. "I realise that you do not wish to be here or to have this conversation, but there are issues we should discuss."

"It seems perfectly clear to me -- you get what you want and I get what I want. What's there to discuss?"

"I do hope this arrangement will not prove to be quite so mercenary," Dumbledore chided gently. "And I would like to make sure you understand everything that is going to happen tonight."

Severus let out a sharp bark of laughter at the kindly look he was given and stood up. He strode over to Dumbledore and stopped mere inches away, towering over him. "This won't be my first time," he spat. "I've made sure of that."

Dumbledore didn't flinch from either Severus' tone or the information he imparted, nor did he show sorrow at the perfunctory way that Severus dropped his robe, exposing himself.

Though Dumbledore's eyes were locked on his own and not on his nude body, Severus was suddenly uncomfortable. A faint flush spread across the ridge of his cheekbones, his fingers curled defensively at his sides, and a strange swirling sensation began in his stomach. He itched to cover himself, but his pride forbade it.

"Perhaps the discussion can wait until later," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet.

The tension in his body that had begun to dissolve when Dumbledore stood up, started coiling again when a hand -- Dumbledore's hand, Severus recalled with a shudder -- slid up his back to cup the back of his head. A gentle pressure was applied, and Severus lowered his head, allowing Dumbledore to press his lips to the centre of Severus' forehead as if in benediction. He was already standing so close that his beard tickled Severus' stomach, but he took a step closer, brushing a kiss across Severus' cheek and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, as he murmured, "I'm not doing this to hurt you."

Turning around at Dumbledore's urging, Severus was pushed back onto the bed and positioned on his side facing Dumbledore. He rested his head on one arm and, acutely aware of his nakedness, drew one leg upward to conceal his genitals.

He tried to calm himself as Dumbledore's hands moved to unbutton his own robes. Breathing deeply, he reminded himself that this was just another test of endurance. However, watching as the other man stripped himself unceremoniously, Severus wasn't sure he would be able to endure it.

He could have coped with skinny haunches, sagging skin and a paunch. He'd been prepared for that, distasteful as it may have been. But he was presented, instead, with wiry muscles, a stomach and chest that were firm and flat beneath a thin layer of grizzled hair. He was unable to look away until, unperturbed by his blatant perusal, Dumbledore stooped slightly to pull off his pants, and he shut his eyes to block out the view.

The bed dipped beneath him, and he felt an ominous swell of arousal when Dumbledore's compact body stretched out beside him. He searched for his earlier anger, but the fire previously lit within had been doused, and he could only roll on to his belly, press his face into the pillow and moan.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, and Severus trembled at the tenderness in his voice. "Whoever you were with before wasn't gentle. Was he?"

"No," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

One of Dumbledore's hands smoothed over his back, and the other drew back the curtain of hair that shielded his face.

"But he didn't hurt me either, not like this," he said, not caring that his words would sting.

Dumbledore rolled to his side, distancing himself. "Severus, if it is really that intolerable we can always stop."

"Stop," Severus hissed, fury overwhelming him at the thought that Dumbledore wanted to stop because _he_ was uncomfortable. "What do you mean stop? This was your idea, or did you forget? Have you also conveniently forgotten the contract you signed, consigning us to this fate?"

"I believe you also signed that contract, Severus. Doesn't that mean you also bear responsibility for our fate?"

"As if I had a choice. No, the Dark Lord wants this so I must obey."

"Though I am certain it does not seem like it, your obedience to Voldemort is a choice in itself."

"And," Severus continued as though Dumbledore hadn't spoken, "he will never tolerate this agreement if it isn't carnal in nature." A frisson of fear ran through him as he realised it was true.

"I _do_ understand. It is the reason I had it stated so clearly in the contract. I am only suggesting that it needn't be tonight."

Severus was dumbfounded. "Not tonight, but I thought..."

"I do hope you are not under the impression that I will be capable of such a performance every night," Dumbledore said, sounding amused.

Severus had been under that impression and considered the offer, torn between his desire for immediate respite and the need to put this first time behind him. "I'd rather get it over and done with," he said, making a reluctant decision.

"If that's what you would prefer," Dumbledore said. As though sensing Severus' urgency, he immediately rolled over and reached under the bed for an uncapped jar that he placed between them when he rolled back. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Severus replied, pulling his legs up underneath him and spreading them in a way that he hoped was encouraging.

"Slow down, Severus, there is no need to rush," Dumbledore said soothingly, stroking his back again. "I'd like you to face me please. I want to be able to see if I'm hurting you."

He did as Dumbledore asked and was startled to find Dumbledore's face so close to his. Dumbledore kissed his arm just below the shoulder and settled his head on Severus' elbow, watching his face intently as he moved his hand, which was now rubbing circles on the small of Severus' back, lower.

Severus squirmed at the first touch to his perineum, not sure whether to bear down on the subtle pressure or twitch away. Dumbledore gradually increased the pressure, and he gave a small half sob as he became aware of his burgeoning erection - he wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. He shuddered when Dumbledore removed his hand and introduced a slick finger to the crevice of his arse soon after.

Besieged by sensation and betrayed by his body, he still had the presence of mind to deny the hand that Dumbledore wormed under his stomach, reaching for his cock. "No," he groaned, pushing his stomach against his thighs, which pushed his arse back into the finger circling the small pucker, and groaned again as his finger slipped inside. Dumbledore didn't remove his finger but began moving it, dipping it slowly in and out.

Dumbledore rolled closer, lifting his head from Severus' arm and began pressing a series of wet kisses to Severus' back and shoulder, his beard a harsh counterpoint to the softness of his mouth. His erection also made contact with Severus' skin, causing him to groan.

Severus' hips jerked sharply as another finger was added. "What're you... what's that for?"

"Relax, this is just to stretch you. The stretching makes it less painful." Dumbledore stroked Severus' forearm, and continued nuzzling his shoulder. "You have not had this done before?"

"No, it feels strange." Hearing the whine in his voice, Severus shut his mouth abruptly.

"I know it does." Dumbledore's fingers kept moving, but he was doing everything slowly as though trying not to disturb a wild creature. "I am going to add another finger now, all right?"

Severus closed his eyes and held still, though suffering a small amount of discomfort from this fresh invasion. But he scrambled away from Dumbledore's fingers when they twisted and touched something that sent ripples of pleasure throughout his body. "Ah, no don't."

"Did I hurt you?" Dumbledore asked, sounding concerned.

Severus shook his head. He was on his hands and knees now, head bowed, his hair shielding his face. He sensed Dumbledore fumbling around behind him, but didn't dare look. Then Dumbledore positioned himself closely behind him, beard falling across his back and over one side, and he arched away from it, hating the way it scraped his skin.

"Severus?"

"Yes," he responded to the implied question, detesting the weakness in his voice. His arse was caressed, and then Dumbledore entered him with a succession of short thrusts.

And Dumbledore was right. He wasn't more than mildly uncomfortable, though he now wished otherwise. He wanted to wriggle against the mass impaling him, but quivered instead, forcing himself to remain stationary. Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, Dumbledore pulled out and shoved back in. Once. Twice. Thrice.

And then he lost count, distancing himself from the physical experience by reciting lists of ingredients of basic potions -- daisy roots, shrivelfig, rat spleen, leech juice -- but it wasn't working very well. He couldn't remember the final ingredient, and shrinking solution was only a third year potion. He balled his fists in frustration, clutching at the sheets to anchor himself.

Then Dumbledore hit that spot, and Severus stifled a whimper against his shoulder. He hit the spot again, and snaked a hand underneath Severus, who batted at it frantically, not sure how much longer he would be able to hold out if Dumbledore kept doing that. "No. I don't want that."

All movement ceased. "You do not wish to come? Are you sure, Severus?" Dumbledore sounded troubled and tried to peer around his fringe of hair, but he jerked his head away.

"I just want it over," he almost begged, which he hadn't wanted to do either.

Dumbledore's hands caressed his sides. "Well then, if you are sure."

He drove into Severus suddenly, thrusting faster, and Severus had to brace himself so he didn't topple over. The bed bounced, and the cool jar came to rest against his calf. Hands gripped his hips firmly, and he heard rhythmic grunting, from behind him, accompanied by the slapping sound of skin on wet skin. He realised he was sweating too and had to open his mouth to accommodate his panting breath.

Then it was over, and Dumbledore collapsed on top of him for a moment before rolling them both to one side. Severus felt Dumbledore's forehead against the back of his skull, and his lips against his neck as Dumbledore whispered something he didn't care to understand, over and over.

He was cradled in Dumbledore's arms one of which stretched across his chest and the other lay flat against his stomach. The hand on his abdomen lay close to where his unsatisfied erection throbbed. And he prayed for it to disappear, drawing his legs up protectively. His stomach muscles fluttered from the effort of bracing himself, and there was soreness in other places as well. He was desperate to wash the stench of sweat and sex from his body, and to remove what felt like slime from between his buttocks.

But he hadn't been released, so he waited letting his thoughts drift.

_Caterpillars._

He slunk out of Dumbledore's arms when they relaxed, and he thought him finally asleep, and gathering his robe, left to bathe.

Severus spent a long while in the bathroom, recovering his composure. When he returned, he settled himself in Dumbledore's armchair instead of the bed and curled his long legs underneath him, resting his head against one wing of the chair back. He saw that Dumbledore was awake, pain flickering in his eyes, but he merely closed his eyes feigning the dearth of emotion that he laboured to feel.

* * *

Severus roused himself at the sound of persistent tapping. The house-elves had already opened the curtains, and he could see Dumbledore's owl at the nearest window. He hauled himself out of the chair, his back popping painfully as he stretched. The past few months had been hell on his back, but he still insisted on sleeping in Dumbledore's armchair, despite the soreness it created, to remind himself, as much as anyone else, that he was not here by choice.

Collecting the post was routine now, and he moved mechanically across the room, stumbling over the ottoman in his path. The black leather ottoman stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the room's other furnishings, but it and a blanket were the only way his decision to sleep in the chair had been accommodated.

A blast of icy, late autumn air blew into the room along with the owl, which flew past him, so he shut the window hastily. Dumbledore's owl settled on his perch, his feathers fluffed up against the chill. Ichabod didn't know his place, rarely releasing the mail without a fuss, and today was no exception. Severus was forced to coddle the bird outrageously, stroking it and supplying it with treats before it would release the mail. "Greedy bird," he growled, as the owl nearly gobbled one of his fingers along with an owl treat, only to be disdainfully ignored.

When at last the mail was surrendered, he dropped it next to a pot of tea on a waiting tray. Then carried the whole lot over to the bed where he knew, from experience, Dumbledore would be awake, having thoroughly enjoyed the preceding farce. By unspoken agreement, Severus never looked at Dumbledore's mail, and he only sent Voldemort information from documents left lying around _deliberately_.

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said, smiling cheerily as Severus passed him the tray.

"Morning, Albus," he grumped, failing to comprehend how anyone could be in such a good mood when it was so early. His protestations notwithstanding, he didn't actually mind his morning duties. They gave him an excuse to climb back into the bed, and he was grateful for any opportunity to stretch out. He had almost convinced himself it was Dumbledore's preference, not his own.

More interested in proper sleep than tea, he slipped under the covers and into his customary doze. He was vaguely conscious of the bed rocking beneath him, the sucking sound of tea being drunk, the crackle of parchment, and Dumbledore reading him snippets of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Severus."

"Mmm." He blinked his eyes open, looking straight at Dumbledore. He groaned disconcerted to find that he had, once again, turned to face Dumbledore in his sleep when he had deliberately lain down with his back to him.

"I asked what your plans were for today."

Severus rolled onto his back, and inspected the bed hangings. He folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, I think Poppy asked for some fresh potions for the infirmary. As it's flu season, I guess that means another batch of Pepperup." He screwed up his face.

"Not a very challenging task," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "But that's the nature of apprenticeships. I seem to remember spending a good portion of the first year of my apprenticeship de-transfiguring the buttons my Master used for classes. At the time I felt was only my research that kept me sane."

"You've a strange idea of sanity," Severus said, smirking.

Dumbledore raised one eyebrow in response.

"Speaking of research, have you settled on a project yet?" He looked expectantly at Severus.

"I haven't really got an idea yet."

"Severus, you haven't eaten a single meal with the rest of the staff since the beginning of the school year, and Irma has already informed me that you are spending all your spare time in the library. That doesn't sound like someone who has no idea to me."

Knowing he wouldn't get away without a response, Severus sighed. "I've been investigating the possibility of creating a neural detoxifying agent," he said, giving away as little information as possible.

"I see. So would it be an antidote for a specific potion or poison?"

"No, it would be universal or near universal." Severus was adamant that if Dumbledore wanted information he would need to be prepared to drag it from him, piece by piece.

Dumbledore looked at him sharply. "A universal agent, Severus, that is quite ambitious." He spoke slowly, and seemed to be choosing his next words carefully. "Can I assume you have given some substances more consideration than others?"

"I've been contemplating potions that affect the brain chemistry like veritaserum, but also certain poisons and other neurotoxins."

Dumbledore frowned at the substances Severus listed. "Is there a _particular_ reason you feel the need to pursue this?"

"No," he lied, keeping his eyes firmly on the drapery above him and his face carefully neutral. He fought an impulse to look at the clock on the mantle -- it must be nearly seven.

"Severus." Dumbledore's query was interrupted by the peal of a bell.

"Oh thank God," Severus muttered to himself, as it chimed for the seventh time

He hurtled off the bed before he could be asked any more awkward questions and grabbed the mocha robe hanging on a hook behind the door. Still yanking the robe over his nightshirt, he rushed out the door without so much as an apology for his abrupt departure.

* * *

Severus burst into the room, waving a crinkled copy of the _Daily Prophet._ "Albus, did you know about this?" He marched over to where Dumbledore was sitting and held up the paper so he could read the headline.

"Yes, just this morning."

Severus scowled at him.

"I don't remember you reading the Prophet this morning. You were trying to hide it from me, weren't you," he accused, "Did you think I wouldn't see it?"

"I had every intention of discussing this with you. However, because I knew it would distress you, I wanted to contact the Ministry to confirm the facts first," Dumbledore replied.

Something inside him sagged. "So, it's true then? The Dark Lord really attacked a Muggle orphanage and killed all those children."

"I am afraid so."

Agitated, Severus began pacing. "How were they killed?"

"Nobody at the ministry is quite sure. It seems some type of gas was fed through the ventilation system. The Muggle authorities suggested it was a type of nerve gas, whatever that maybe." Severus' hand clenched forcefully around the _Daily Prophet._ He turned his back to Dumbledore.

"Not quite, although it does work in much the same way as a Muggle nerve gas. Its name is Aiment's Revenge. Aiment was a French potion maker around the turn of the last millennium. He invented the potion to revenge himself on his village after his wife was burned as witch. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I suppose, depending on your point of view, Basilisk venom is a core ingredient, and he was killed by his Basilisk before he had an opportunity to make use of it."

"Severus," Dumbledore said in a serious voice, "did you make the potion?"

He gave a harsh laugh. "No, but I might as well have." He heard Dumbledore get up from the chair, and then his purple slippered feet stepped into the patch of floor he was looking at. He attempted to turn further away, but Dumbledore grasped his elbow, preventing him. "Don't you understand this is my fault? I found the recipe and gave it to Voldemort the summer before last after I did my N.E.W.T.S."

"Ah, I finally understand your research topic."

"Yes," Severus said dully, "Voldemort kept asking me to manufacture the gas for him. I told him I wasn't skilled enough yet and tried to stall for as long as possible while I created an antidote. But I guess he got tired of waiting."

"I confess myself to be disappointed that you did not confide in me earlier." Severus shuddered, unexpectedly chilled.

"I didn't think he had anyone else who could make it, so I thought there would be more notice."

"A trifle arrogant, don't you think."

Dumbledore's words cut him deeply. "Yes," he said in a small voice. He couldn't look at Dumbledore. "I'm sorry." He groped for better words to express his remorse, but they didn't come. He stumbled backward, away from Dumbledore, until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sat down hard.

He covered his face with both hands, detesting Dumbledore, Voldemort, Black... anyone who could be considered even remotely responsible for his intolerable situation. And felt nothing less than loathing for himself.

"Severus."

"How could you do this to me?" he asked bitterly. He dropped his hands into his lap. "I felt safe... protected here with you, but once again it's proved to be nothing more than a sham. If I hadn't remained here, hadn't taken the potions apprenticeship, how many people would I have killed? Certainly not fifty."

"Severus, you did not kill those people," Dumbledore said sternly.

"The hell I didn't!" he yelled in disbelief.

"You cannot blame yourself for Voldemort's actions."

"_I_ gave him the formula," Severus said, his voice thick with rage, "He wouldn't have even known it existed if it wasn't for me. I'm as responsible for those children's deaths as if I wafted the bloody poison in their faces myself."

"Do you really believe that Voldemort would not have been able to use another method to kill those children?" Severus didn't have an answer to that, and some of his anger ebbed away with the old man's earnest expression. "He did not target them merely because your potion made it easy."

"How can you be so sure," Severus enquired fretfully, twining his fingers together. "Why would he target that orphanage... those children?"

Dumbledore sat down, next to Severus, who stiffened even though he wasn't touched. "Voldemort was raised in that orphanage."

"The Dark Lord was raised in a _Muggle_ orphanage."

"Yes; his father was a Muggle who abandoned his mother when he discovered that she was a witch. He also refused to raise his son when she died, so Voldemort was sent to the orphanage because he had no other relations."

Severus gaped, his mind trying to latch on to this incomprehensible fact. "Voldemort's father was a Muggle."

Dumbledore patted his hands lightly. "I don't imagine that he advertises the fact." Severus shook his head. "In fact, I believe he killed them because he is trying to erase his past."

"Those children didn't know him. They weren't even alive when Voldemort lived there. How would killing them erase his past?" Severus protested.

"Severus, what do you think happens to an orphanage when all the residents there are murdered?"

"It would be closed, I suppose." He squeezed his eyes shut. "How could he... it's just so callous," he trailed off weakly, aware he shouldn't really be surprised.

There was silence while Severus digested this fresh information. He ran his hands back and forth over the coverlet. It had an abstract floral design stitched on its surface that he traced despondently.

A consoling arm stretched around his shoulders. "Don't," he said, rebuffing Dumbledore and endeavouring to shrug off his arm. Severus blinked rapidly, and then swallowed. His throat felt thick, and he tasted bitterness.

Dumbledore simply gripped his shoulder more firmly. "I thought you had come to at least tolerate my touch, Severus."

"I'm a murderer," Severus said, feeling the full weight of his guilt. "I don't understand why you would even want to." His chin quivered, and his eyes itched with unshed tears.

"I don't consider you to be a murderer, Severus." Dumbledore tugged him closer.

"You should," he said, but nevertheless, eased into the security of Dumbledore's embrace.

* * *

Later that evening, Severus woke clutching at Dumbledore, but he had no memory of lying down. And there were tears on his cheeks, though thankfully he also had no recollection of what he had dreamt. Steady fingers stroked his hair as Dumbledore murmured to him gently. His voice was scarcely audible, and Severus kept his eyes closed, listening intently. It sounded like he was repeating a single phrase. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He leant in and dried his face against Dumbledore's shoulder, recognising the soft material as his nightshirt. His own robe and shoes had also been removed, and he shivered with the realisation that he was mostly naked and pressed willingly against the other man.

"It's not your fault," Severus said. He opened his eyes, shivering again, not with cold, but because of the open affection on Dumbledore's face.

The old man drew up the sheet that lay rucked about his waist. "I cannot help feeling that your current predicament is, at least partly, the result of my errors of judgement. I should have done something sooner, when they first approached you." His voice sounded tired.

"You couldn't have known what would happen."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I knew how bitter you were. It was a mistake to ever let you leave my office without reaching some resolution. And for that I _am_ sorry."

"You cannot blame yourself for my actions," Severus said, echoing Dumbledore's earlier statement. He squirmed a hand free, and reached up to touch Dumbledore's careworn cheek, noticing, for the first time, that there were more lines on it than there had been the previous summer. "There are other more important people for you to worry about."

"There _are_ other people I am concerned about, Severus, but they are not more important than you."

"Not more important," he repeated hopefully, a strange thrill rippling through him. "It's not just because of my potions. Is it?"

"No, Severus, I value you for more than just your talent with a cauldron," Dumbledore said, reassuring him gently.

An almost unbearable lightness swept through Severus, and he raised himself up on one elbow, looking down at Dumbledore. "No one's ever... " He darted in and inexpertly mashed his lips to Dumbledore's. Dumbledore gasped, and Severus withdrew hastily. "I'm sorry," he apologised.

"Don't be sorry, my boy," Dumbledore said. He appeared a little stunned, and Severus recalled that this was the first time he had ever initiated any contact between them. He flushed, discomfited by Dumbledore's shock and his own forward behaviour, but leant down, gingerly pressing their lips together again.

This time, Dumbledore's lips opened, and it was Severus' turn to gasp as a moist tongue swiped across his lips. His gasp opened his own lips, and an enthusiastic tongue entered.

Kissing Dumbledore was nothing like he had imagined.

He had expected his mouth to taste like tea, or perhaps hold a faint citrusy tang from those revolting Muggle sweets he always carried. But instead there was the cool minty flavour of a mouthwash or toothpaste that Severus hadn't even been aware he used.

Severus thought he had known everything about the Headmaster from his favourite blend of tea -- Earl Grey; to his smell -- the faint floral scent of his soap underscored by his own personal musk; the noises he made while sleeping and the fact that he liked to wear socks in bed. He found it decidedly odd to be discovering new things about someone he had lived with for over twelve months.

Then Dumbledore sucked his tongue into his mouth, and all thought was abandoned. The unfamiliar sensations of his warm mouth and firm, moist tongue made him inexplicably giddy, but the rasp of the beard that he had believed he detested somehow grounded him.

Dumbledore kissed him with a curious mixture of boyish zeal and consideration, until lungs bursting and heart pounding through lack of oxygen, Severus reluctantly pulled away. Dumbledore rubbed his back while he breathed heavily, a pleased glimmer in his eyes, and asked, "What brought that on, Severus?"

Severus linked his arms around Dumbledore's middle, and propped his chin against his sternum. "I guess there's no point in pretending anymore."

"Pretending?"

He gave Dumbledore a tentative smile, and let the words flow unhindered. "Pretending that I'd rather be somewhere else."

* * *

"_Lumos._"

Severus heaved his head off the desk at the sudden flare of light. He gazed around muzzily, swiping drool from the side of his mouth.

"Severus," a familiar voice called. He straightened his robe and combed his fingers through his hair, trying to appear as though he hadn't fallen asleep.

"I'm over here, Albus." He looked down at the open book in front of him, and quickly dropped one of his potions texts on top of it before Dumbledore rounded the nearest stack, looking tired and what passed for grumpy with him.

"It's after midnight, Severus; did you fall asleep again." Severus tried not to fidget under his critical gaze.

"No."

"Oh really," Dumbledore said, staring pointedly at the small patch of drool that adorned the table. Then he sighed in exasperation. "Come to bed, you can't read the whole library in one night."

"I just need to finish the chapter I was reading," Severus replied with a hint of plea.

"What's so important that it can't wait until morning?"

"Nothing."

Dumbledore surveyed his face for a moment, and then using his unerring teacher's instinct for trouble, slid the open book from beneath the one concealing it. "Does Irma know that you are reading her Dark Arts books?"

"I have no idea what that old battleaxe knows," said Severus with a sullen glower, baiting Dumbledore. He could see that he was perfectly well aware that he had the book without permission.

But Dumbledore refused to take the bait, using one hand to slide the open book closer so he could examine it. "Occlumency," Dumbledore said, seeming puzzled.

"It's only six weeks until Christmas," Severus said by way of explanation. Dumbledore continued to look puzzled. "That's when I have my next audience with Voldemort," he said for clarification, and stared at his fingernails, uncertain of Dumbledore's response.

"Well then, you will need a partner to practice on," Dumbledore said, much to Severus' surprise. "Perhaps you will consider accepting my assistance."

"You'll help me. Really." He let gratitude and relief shine on his face.

"Of course," Dumbledore said easily as though such generosity was commonplace, "I should have thought of it myself." He picked up the books on the table, stacking them neatly for reshelving before he passed them to Severus. "But not tonight."

* * *

For once, Dumbledore wasn't waiting when Severus finally ascended from the dungeon. This was sufficiently unusual that he decided to look for him. Dumbledore was in his office, the first place Severus looked, staring into a bowl full of glistening silver liquid. His face lacked its usual sparkle, and he didn't seem to have heard Severus' knock.

"Is everything all right, Albus," Severus asked with some concern. The news of the most recent slew of deaths had hit Dumbledore quite hard.

"Ah, good evening, Severus, I didn't see you there." He glanced away from the pensieve, giving Severus a brief distracted smile.

Severus collected a chair from the far side of the room, set it beside him, and dropped into it with a swish of his black robe. "Albus?" he enquired, taking his hand.

"Mmm, I had quite an interesting discussion, in the Hogshead, today with a woman named Trelawney."

Severus frowned, more worried than ever. "Trelawney. You mean the seer. I thought she had died."

"No, this was her great-great-granddaughter I believe. I interviewed her for the vacant Divination position."

"I thought you had already decided not to fill that position," he said, bewildered.

"That was my intention, but she had already applied and I considered it more polite to see her. However, I did not find evidence of any talent." Severus snorted. "And was leaving when she went in to a trance. She foretold the birth of a child, at the end of July, to parents who have thrice defied the Dark Lord. A child that could defeat Voldemort."

"What rubbish. Divination is the realm of hacks and charlatans, Albus. You don't believe her do you?"

"I do," Dumbledore said with the certainty of conviction. "There's something else too."

"Some how I knew there would be," Severus said wryly. "Go on."

"Argus Filch was also in the Hogshead."

"So Voldemort already knows."

"Yes, I expect so."

"He will move against them regardless of the veracity of Madame Trelawney's prophecy," he warned.

"I must find a means of protecting them."

"So you have an idea of who the prophecy is referring to?" Severus asked. Dumbledore didn't respond, and Severus caught a fleeting glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes. "It doesn't matter if you can't tell me," he said, trying to hide the dull ache that had begun in his chest.

"I trust you," Dumbledore said, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "There are two potential candidates of which I am aware. I am sure you know the Longbottoms." Severus searched his memory and found the image of a sharp-eyed Auror and his round-faced wife. Dumbledore's pause continued, and Severus steeled himself, experience telling him that the length of the delay meant he was about to be the recipient of unwelcome news. "And the Potters."

He closed his eyes, the breath whooshing out of him. Potter's brat -- how could he possibly. But inspecting Dumbledore's weary face, he found he couldn't deny him anything. "What do you need me to do?"

Using his other hand Dumbledore pulled Severus' head toward him, tangling his fingers in long hair, and pressed his lips against his forehead. "Thank you, dear boy," he said fondly, "I know what that must have cost you."

"You can have anything you need, Albus?" Severus said, and wrapped his arms around the most important person in his world.


End file.
